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Contents 


At  Christmas  Time 8 

After  the  Holidays 9 

The  Dear  Old  Moon 10 

The  Christmas  Story—  "Winter  Reveries" 13 

An  Ode  to  the  Great  American  Desert. 19 

Keep  A- gripping 20 

A  "Back  East"  Memory 21 

Soliloquies  of  "Nin-nin  Tat" 22 

When  You  Have  Grown  Up  I'll  Miss  You 24 

Congratulations 25 

There's  a  Nation  Calling 26 

Babies 27 

Just  for  My  Sweetheart 30 

There's  a  Story,  My  Friend 31 

Autumn  Winds 32 

Word  Picture • 33 

Cupid's  Message 34 

Why  I  Love  Her 39 

Spooks 42 

It  Broke  the  Baby's  Heart 44 

The  Bliss  of  a  Kiss 45 

A  Toast 46 

How  Do  You  Treat  Your  Mother? 47 

Contrast 48 

Why  I  Am  Single 49 

Good  News 52 

The  Little  Thief,  Dan  Cupid 53 

Blue  Eyes,  Cease  Your  Peeping 54 

Choose  Your  Beacon  Light 56 

The  Battle  Call 57 

Felicitation 58 

The  Autumn  Rain  Drops 59 

Ephriam's  'Possum  Supper 60 


3014S& 


Ifust  a 

1  HE  writer  of  the  few  bits  of  verse  con- 
tained herein  does  not,  in  presenting  this 
collection  to  the  cold,  cold  world,  fear 
in  the  least  for  his  literary  or  poetic  repu- 
tation, for  he  has  none;  nor  does  he  fear 
unfavorable  criticism  from  the  friends 
whom  he  favors  (?)  with  a  copy  gratis, 
for  they  will  be  too  well  bred  to  criticise  a  well 
intentioned  gift,  even  a  hand  made  one  by  an  ama- 
ture.  No  one  will  be  so  foolish  as  to  buy  a  copy — 
if  perchance  it  be  so,  they  would  have  already  spent 
their  money,  so  there  would  be  no  use  to  complain. 
If  any  one  should  borrow  or  steal  a  copy  they  would 
not  dare  to  utter  a  sound  for  fear  of  being  found 
out — hence  the  writer  feels  perfectly  safe  and  is 
willing  to  take  a  chance.  So  with  the  sincere  hope 
that  some  of  the  little  thoughts  herein  expressed 
that  have  given  him  a  little  pleasure  or  amusement 
in  their  formulation,  and  any  expression  that  may 
please  or  amuse  you  for  a  brief  moment  in  this  hus- 
tling, bustling,  busy  old  world  of  ours,  or  bring  back 
to  the  reader  some  of  the  fond  memories  on  which 
we  sometimes  love  to  dwell  in  the  pause  in  our  mad 
flight. 

If  you  should  not  care  to  have  this  among  your 
other  "Classics,"  please  notify  the  author  and 
postage  will  be  cheerfully  forwarded  for  its  return 
trip  home. 

The  writer  has  endeavored  to  slip  in  enough  "Gems" 
with  the  Cnristmas  spirit  in  them  to  make  the  reader 
a  little  more  charitable  than  usual,  and  he  does 
herelby  and  hereon  most  respectfully  dedicate  them 
all  to  those  dear  to  him,  who  have  furnished  him 
with  the  little  inspirations  that  have  lead  to  their 
existence.  So  please,  dear  reader,  accept  them  in 
the  spirit  in  which  the  author  intended  that  they 
should  be;  most  of  them  are  harmless.  If  any 
of  them  should  please  you  a  little  bit,  the  author 
is  human  and  might  be  tempted  to  give  you  others, 
if  you  will  tell  him  so.  THE  AUTHOR. 


Christmas 


T  Christmas  Time  we  give  gifts  to  our  loved 
ones  and  friends.  It  is  an  old  custom  and 
a  good  one.  Somewhere  buried  in  the 
breast  of  every  one  of  us  are  feelings  and 
emotions  of  kindness  and  love  for  others. 
It  is  well  to  express  that  at  least  once  a 
year. 

At  Christmas  time  we  look  after  the  poor  and 
needy  and  seek  to  make  their  lives  happy.  That 
is  good,  for  it  does  us  good  to  do  good  to  others. 
At  Christmas  time  we  gather  in  family  reunions. 
Happy  is  that  household  where  there  is  no  vacant 
chair.  Our  children  and  our  children's  children  come 
with  laughter  and  hands  laden  with  gifts.  It  is  good 
to  have  it  so. 

At  Christmas  time  we  are  brought  in  touch  with 
the  spirit  which  would  prevail  all  the  year  if  we 
really  believed  in  Him  in  whose  honor  we  celebrate 
Christmas.  If  the  Christmas  spirit  could  prevail 
all  of  the  time  poverty  would  be  abolished,  class 
strife  would  end,  war  would  cease  and  hardest  of 
all  maybe,  sectarian  contention  and  bigotry  would 
cease  and  the  men  who  divide  good  people  into 
factions  and  emphasize  denominational  and  credal 
differences  would  be  ranked  with  the  Pharasees,  who- 
ever proclaim  the  "I  am  holier  than  thou"  doctrine; 
and  the  supreme  test  of  fellowship  in  the  bonds  of 
the  gospel  would  be  the  love  which  sacrifices  for 
the  good  of  others,  even  such  loves  as  Christ  had. 

(Selected.) 


( Walt  Mason  in  the  Times) 

Am  I  the  same  good-natured  jay  who  beamed  so 
much  on  Christmas  Day?  Who  said,  with  fervor  in 
my  cry:  "The  Cnristmas  spirit  should  not  die?"  Am 
I  the  same  old  gun  who  smiled  on  every  grown-up, 
every  child,  and  radiated  peace  on  earth,  good  will 
to  men,  and  sterling  worth?  I  have  to  wonder  when 
I  note  that  I'm  as  surly  as  a  goat.  I  come  aome  from 
tne  beastly  grind  with  business  cares  upon  my  mind; 
I  have  a  dark  and  brooding  brow,  and  wear  my 
grudge  out  on  the  frau.  I  growl  and  snort  and  fuss 
around  because  my  slippers  can't  be  found;  I  cuss 
because  the  dinner's  late,  because  the  enters  choke 
the  grate,  because  the  kids,  with  Christmas  toys, 
are  kicking  up  a  beastly  noise.  And  when  I'm  done 
with  snorts  and  sneers  I  have  the  whole  blamed 
bunch  in  tears.  And  wnen  to  roost  I  go  at  last,  and 
study  o'er  the  recent  past,  I  wonder  if  I  am  the  same 
old  scout  who  played  the  Christmas  game,  with 
beaming  smile  and  beck  and  nod,  with  softened  heart 
and  loosened  wad.  The  fairies  must  have  come  along 
when  I  wound  up  my  Christmas  song,  and  then,  to 
their  and  my  disgrace,  put  some  cheap  faker  in  my 
place. 


O16 

i. 

The  dear  old  moon  is  smiling,  love, 

As  it  has  for  many  a  year, 
It  watches  o'er  the  dear  old  Earth, 

O'er  friends  and  memories  dear, 
She  sails  her  course  and  falters  not 

On  her  path  up  in  the  sky 
And  brings  fond  memories  back,  dear 

Memories  sweet  to  you  and  I. 
And  as  I  gaze  up  to  her  face, 

So  full  and  round  and  true, 
My  thoughts  go  back  into  the  past 

To  the  time  I  first  met  you. 

II. 
\How  well  do  I  remember   dear! 

It  seems  'twere  only  yesterday 
Our  first  sweet  stroll  togetner — 

How  she  smiled  and  seemed  to  say: 
"God  bless  you  in  your  new  found  joy 

And  guide  you  on  your  way; 
I'll  be  your  friend  by  night  time 

As  the  Sun  shall  be  by  day." 
She's  kept  her  promise  true,  dear, 

Ne'er  failed  her  time  to  shine 
Upon  our  happy  trysting  place, 

To  bless  your  life  and  mine. 

III. 
Our  wedding  bens  rang  clearer 

As  her  silvery  moonbeams  fell 
And  caressed,  with  loving  tenderness, 

The  form  I  loved  so  well; 
I  oft,  have  seen  tnat  picture, 


And  trust  that  long  I  may 
For  happiness  is  sweet  indeed 

Whene'er  it  comes  that  way:  — 
'Tis  true  the  clouds  o'ercast  at  times, 

And  hide  her  from  our  view, 
But  she  undaunted  still  shines  on 

As  we  in  life  should  do. 

IV. 
Again  I  see  her  silvery  rays 

— It's  joy  to  me,  and  so  I  love  her — 
As  they  fall  across  the  window-sill 

On  the  new  babe  and  its  mother! 
There  may  be  sights  in  memories 

That  are  precious,  sweet  to  see, 
But  this  is  one  that  angels  love 

To  show — at  least  they  do  to  me. 
And,  too,  this  self-same  gentle  moon. 

Helps  us  always  to  be  brave, 
As,  thru  Memory's  tear-stained  eyes,  we  see 

That  tiny  new-made  grave. 

V. 
Yes,  dear,  the  moon  is  shining  still 

On  joy,  hope,  love  and  sadness, 
And  I  love  her  great  round  smiling  face; 

I  hail  her  beams  with  gladness. 
I  love  her  first  faint  little  ray 

Which,  like  childhood,  fast  it  grows, 
Develops,  and  in  due  time 

Perfected  form  and  grace  it  shows. 
Then  one  brief  day,  perfection  reached, 

Like  life  she  fades,  and  naught  can  make  her 
Do  aught,  except  as  she  snould  do, 

Obedient  be,  unto  her  Maker. 


11 


VI. 
Yes,  I  love  my  dear  old  moon, 

Old  friend  in  joy  or  sorrow; 
In  all  my  moods  she  meets  with  me, 

Did  yesterday,  and  will  tomorrow. 
Friends  are  so  few  that  come  and  stay, 

That  -never  chide  or  scold  us, 
That,  by  their  light  in  darkest  hours 

And,  by  smiling  faces,  hold  us. 
So  join  me,  dear,  and  let  us  sing 

A  song  of  joy  and  praise  together 
For  the  dear  old  Moon  that's  been  our  friend 

In  every  place  and  Kind  of  weauier. 

VII. 

I  love  my  Moon,  my  dear  old  Moon, 
I  love  her  anywhere  or  plac'-r 
In  any  land  or  clime  or  sea 

It's  the  same  old  nappy  smiling  iace. 
The  children  dearly  love  her, 

And  the  old  folks  love  her,  too; 
And  lovers  always  love  her 

As  lovers  true  should  do; 
For  she  is  kind  and  gentle 

Her  bright  and  cneery  smile 
Shines,  and  helps  us  realize 

The  Really,  lifes  worth  while. 


Christmas  Story 


Quite  a  long  time  ago  there  lived  a  boy  in  a  coun- 
try more  than  a  thousand  miles  Bast  of  the  Great 
Rocky  Mountains,  where  winter  is  REAL  WINTER 
indeed,  with  k;ts  of  snow  and  ice  and  cold. 

Bye  and  bye  he  grew  to  be  a  man  and  moved  to 
a  country  where  there  was  no  real  winter,  but  where 
the  grass,  and  flowers  and  oranges  grew  out  of  doors 
all  winter  long.  It  was  Christmas  time  and  as  he 
had  been  chosen  superintendent  of  a  Sunday  School 
in  that  country  of  sunshine,  he  wanted  to  tell  the 
little  boys  and  girls,  and  some  of  the  larger  ones 
as  well,  something  of  the  long  winters  and  how  he 
used  to  spend  them,  in  order  that  they  would  bet- 
ter understand  why  Santa  Glaus  always  had  his  pic- 
ture taken  in  furs  and  snow  and  with  his  sleigh; 
so  he  told  a  short  story,  and  read  them  a  few  of 
his  "Winter  Reveries"  i.e.  rememberences  of  winter, 
in  rhyme  as  follows: 

You  dear  reader  may,  like  the  writer,  have  been 
reared  in  a  country  where  winter  was  a  stern 
reality,  if  so  you  can  appreciate  these  lines  more 
fully  than  one  who  has  not  actually  experienced 
winter. 

Winter  3levcUes 

Winter!    cold,  icy  winter  is  here! 

The  blast  from  the  north,  sharp,  severe, 

Tells  in  a  voice  of  no  gentle  tone. 

That  a  visitor  is  here  from  a  polar  zone. 

He  has   stripped  the  foliage  from  plant  and   tree, 

Banished  the  bird  and  stilled  the  bee. 

Has  covered  the  brook  with  a  silvery  sheen, 

So  its  merry  ripples  can  not  be  seen. 

13 


Has  spread  a  white  mantle  over  the  grass, 
Making  red  cheeks  for  school-boy  and  lass. 
Bringing  joy  to  some,  while  to  others  pain; 
But,   after  the  winter,   spring  comes   again. 

Winter!   chill  snow-clad  winter  is  here! 

To  the  hungry  and  cold  it  is,  indeed,  drear. 

For,  what  can  be  the  cold  winter  charm 

To  those  who  lack  clothing  to  keep  them  warm? 

To  those  who  have  neither  snelter  nor  bed; 

To  those  who  suffer  for  fire  and  bread; 

To  those  who  have   babes,   to  them,   precious   and 

sweet, 

Crying  from  cold,  or  for  something  to  eat. 
What  charm  hath  winter  to  poor  folk  like  these, 
As  the  wind  drifts  tne  snow,  or  howls  through  the 

trees  ? 

Finds  its  way  in  turough  loose  windows  and  door. 
Winter!    bleak  winter,   seems   not  for  the  poor. 

The  shouts  of  the  sleighers,  merry  and  clear, 
Tell  us,  as  they  peal  out  on  the  frosty  air, 
That  winter  is  here!   And  the  sleigh  bell's  chime 
To  the  clattering  hoofs,  keep  cheerful  time. 
And  the  runners  squeak,  as  away  they  go, 
Bearing  light  hearts  o'er  the  sparkling  snow. 
Winter  hath  charms  for  the  well  and  strong; 
With  plenty  to  eat  and  wear,  'tis  a  song 
The  wind  plays  for  them  on  Jack  frost's  lyre, 
As  they  ride  in  furs,  or,  by  a  cozy  fire 
Sit  and  muse  wnile  the  coals  glow  red; 
Or,  they  dream  of  summer  in  their  downy  bed. 

As  thus  we  sit  musing  o'er  many  such  things, 
Our  thoughts  ofttimes  take  up  memories  wings, 
And  soar  away,  'way  bacK  into  the  past, — 

14 


Over  the  years  that  have  flown  so  fast 
To  when,  from  the  window,  in  great  surprise, 
We  beheld  the  first  snow,  with  our  baby  eyes. 
We  recall  not  the  month,  perhaps  'twas  November. — 
But  'twas  the  first  fall  of  snow,  that  we  can  remem- 
ber. 

How  we  clapped  our  soft  hands  in  cnildish  glee! 
And  called  to  our  Mamma  to  come  and  see; 
And  we  hear  her  say:  "Dear,  don't  you  know 
These  falling  stars  are  nakes  of  snow?" 

The  years  roll  on  thus,  and,  one  by  one, 

Each  winter  marks  a  year  has  gone; 

But  as  they  come  and  as  they  go, 

Vve  recall  pleasant  thoughts  of  each  winter's  snow. 

Our  warm  yarn  mitts,  and  boot-tops  red; 

Our  flashy  colored    priceless   sled; 

Short  rides,  at  first  we  had  to  take, 

But  soon  we  followed  in  the  wake 

Of  older  boys;  and  our  courage  grew 

Until,  down  steep  hills  we  almost  flew; 

With  feet  most  froze,  cheeks  all  aglow, 

What  fun  we  had  with  sled  and  snow! 

Then,  when  evening  shades  would  xail; 
The  cows  and  horses  in  their  stall 
Had  all  been  fed;  and,  in  the  fold 
The  sheep  were  sheltered  from  the  cold. 
The  noisy  pigs,  their  sty  within 
Were  keeping  up  their  usual  din; 
The  watch-dog  now  was  at  his  post, 
Fearing  neither  dark  nor  ghost; 
In  day  time  full  of  romp  and  play, 
At  night,  the  prowlers  kept  away; 
The  cold,  -he  did  not  seem  to  mind; 

15 


And  a  faithful  friend,  in  him  we  find. 

Those  evening  meals  our  mothers  spread; 
For,   growing   children   must  be   fed; 
Then  we'd  gather  'round  the  grate 
Our  days'  experience  to  relate 
Of  what  we'd  seen,  or  learned,  or  done, 
Sometimes  of  work,  oft  times  of  fun; 
And  Grandpa,  with  his  ready  store 
Of  wonderous  tales  from  days  of  yore, 
Would  entertain  us  by  the  hour, — 
For  Grandpa's  tales  had  magic  power 
To  amuse,  instruct  and  charm  a  boy 
And,  fill  a  girlish  heart  with  joy. 

And  grandma,  too,   in,  her  easy  chair 

With   her   large   bowed   spec's,  her  snowy   hair 

Half  hidden  'neath  a  dainty  cap, 

Would  rouse  up,  from  a  nodding  nap 

To  tell  us  stories,  not  a  few, 

Adentures, — all  of  which  were  true; 

How  those  pretty  farms;  were   made 

From  praries  wild,  or  forest  shade; 

How  cities,  mixed  with  bad  and  good, 

Sprang  up,  where  once  a  cabin  stood; 

And,  how  the  railroad  of  the  age 

Had  taken  place  of  ox  and  stage. 

Then,  how  her  knitting  needles  flew! 
As,  round  by  round,  that  stocking  grew; 
Or  else  a  warm  and  shapely  mitt, 
Perfect,  in  its  form  and  fit, 
Grew,  stitch  by  stitch,  as  sne  nodded,  dozed, — 
And  knit  away  with  eyes  half  closed. 
Then,  by  the  fire-light's  mellow  glow, 
Queer  shadows  with  our  hands,  we'd  throw 

16 


Upon  the  wall;  or,  carry  tabby  to  the  dark 
And  rub  her 'back,  to  see  it  spark; 
Or  hold  the  skein  of  Grannie's  yarns, 
Or  wind  the  ball,  to  rest  our  arms. 

Now  we'd  romp  in  childish  mirth, 
Or,  seated  'round  the  great  stone  hearth, 
'lie  large  red  apples  to  a  string, 
And  watch  them  near  the  fire  swing, 
And  turn,  and  fiz,  and  whirl,  and  sing 
Until,  when  done,  they'd  tempt  a  king. 
Chestnuts,  baked  in   smoking   embers, 
Is  another  thing  one  long  remembers. 
Then,  home-made  cider,  fresh  and  sweet, 
\vould  help  digest  what  we  had  eat. 
Songs  were  sung,  books  were  read, 
Until  'twas  time  to  go  to  bed. 

Those  winter  mornings,  sharp  and  cold, 
The  tracks  all  'round,  of  Jack  Frost,  bold; 
The  snow  in  drifts,  so  sort  and  light, 
Piled  up  high,  small  mountains  white; 
The  horses,  neighing  in  their  stall; 
The  cattle,  from  their  stanchion  call, 
The  pigs  now  in  their  pens  were  squealing, 
All  for  their  morning  meal  appealing: 
iSo,  we  bundled  up,  and  out  we'd  go 
To  cut  our  way  through  drifts  of  snow. 

And  thus  the  days  went  flitting  by 
Until  the  yule  time  had  drawn  nigh; 
The  old  church  bell,  in  merry  chime, 
Heralds   again,   the   Christmas   time. 
"Old  Santa  Glaus,"  of  our  childish  dreams, 
His  big  high  loads  and  reindeer  teams; 
His  great  fur  coat  to  keep  him  warm, 

17 


So  he'd  not  fear  the  winter  storm; 
His  frosty  beard,  and  hair  so  white, 
Who  always  traveled  in  the  night. 

Then,  as  for  dear  old  friendship's  sake; 

The  New  Year  followed  in  his  wake, 

Dropping  a  stone  on  Time's  Highway; 

To  mark  the  end  of  a  year,  we  say; 

And  a  page  of  life,  so  clean  and  white, 

Was  turned,  for  keeping  the  wrong  or  right. 

The  good  resolves,  we  all  did  make, 

And  never,  never,  meant  to  break; 

But,  somehow,  all  except  a  few, 

Were  re-resolved,  each  year  anew. 

Thus,  back  on  memories  leaves  we  gaze, 
Where  time  and  fates,  hath  marked  our  ways; 
Hath  spurred  us  on  to  do  our  best, 
Or  held  us  back,  from  lack  of  zest: 
Our  days  at  school, — the  good  old  master 
Who  thought  we  ougnt  to  learn  much  faster: 
The  spelling  bee  we  would  not  miss 
With  sweetheart,  and, — a  stolen  kiss — 
Such  rivalry,  and  great  conquests, 
Some,  fun;  some,  greatest  earnestness. 

Courtship  sweet,  life's  fond  young  dream; 
Love,  was  our  one  absorbing  theme: 
And  then  at  last,  with  cupid's  aid, 
We  won  our  cause, — sweet,  blushing  maid. 
With  love,  hope,  and  faith  unshaken, 
Our  plighted  troth,  and  vows  were  taken; 
The  vows  that  were  to  last  through  life, 
The  vows  that  made  us  man  and  wife; 
With  new  ambitions,  joy  and  pride, 
Consecrated  we,  our  own  new  fireside. 

18 


The  wheel  of  life  has  gone  once  'round, 

Grandpa  and  Ma,  sleep   'neath  the  ground; 

New  life  is  born  to  take  the  place 

Of  those  who  finish  life's  great  race. 

All  things  work  out  to  God's  own  plan, 

The  child  that  was,  is  now  the  man; 

And,  at  our  knees,  we  see  the  face 

That,  in  coming  years,  will  take  our  place; 

And,  we  may  see,  as  we  grow  old, 

Our  dream  of  life,  in  life  unfold. 


to  H)e  (Breat  American  TDescrt 

Yes,  on  and  on;  gaze  east  or  west;  IOOK  as  you  will, 

For  hours  and  days  you  see  it  still. 

Those  miles  and  miles  of  cheerless,  barren  waste 

Remind  us  of  some  saddened  human  lives, 

Who'e  never  had  of  happiness  one  single  little  taste. 

Waiting,  always  waiting,  until  the  time  arrives 

When  God  alone,  or  else  inspired  man, 

Shall  show  the  way  by  which  this  desert  can 
Be  made  to  bloom  and  blossom  as  the  rose. 
How  many  years  'twill  take,  no  mortal  knows, 
But  just  as  sure  as  God's  in  Heaven  above, 
Just  so  sure,  some  day,  in  mercy  and  in  tender  love, 
Will  He  teach  how  to  grow  tne  wheat  and  corn 
To  feed,  and  happy  make,  the  millions  yet  unborn. 
Oh,  Desert  drear!  So  sad,  so  comfortless  and  vast, 
Man  will  thy  many  secrets  learn  and  tnen,  them  use 
at  last. 

19 


IKecp 

When  you're  tired,  worn  and  weary, 

When  the  world  seems  cold  and  dreary, 
If  you  then  can  sing  your  song, 

You  can  help  the  world  along. 
If  you  smile,  instead  of  frown, 

When  everything  is  up-side-down, 
You  are  really,  then,  worth  while. 

For  it  takes  a  man  to  smile, 
When  the  hand  of  fate  is  leading, 

And,  despite  your  prayers  and  pleading, 
Drops  the  flag  right  in  your  face, 

As  you  run  in  life's  great  race. 

It  takes  a  man  to  sing  and  smile, 

Look  up  and  keep  a-trying,  while 
Everything  seems  set  against  him. 

If  you  feel  yourself  a-slipping 
Get  a  hold  and  just  keep  gripping — 

Do  not  sigh  and  wonder  why; 
You  can  conquer,  if  you'll  try 

And  be  happy  bye  and  bye, 
In  the  thought  that  you  have  won 

In  the  race  that  you  have  run; 
There's  the  way  to  keep  from  slipping — 

Get     a    hold    and    just    keep    gripping, 
And  keep  up  the  smile  and  song. 

It's  an  easy  thing  for  any  fellow, 
When  all  the  world  is  soft  and  mellow 

To  smile  when  things  just  come  his  way — 
Health  and  good  things  all  seem  come  to  stay, 

All  the  world  looks  bright  and  rosy, 
When  fortune  snugs  you  up  so  cozy. 

But  it  takes  a  man  to  push  and  trill, 

20 


When  it's  all  the  way  up  hill, 
It's  not  the  same:  No,  no,  my  dear; 

It  takes  grit  to  push  and  steer 
Through  the  dark,  on  to  the  goal; 

If  he  will  not  admit  defeat 
Nor  give  up,  because  he's)  heat, 

Nor  spend  his  time  in  crying, 
But  hope  on  and  keep  a-trying; 

If  he  smiles  and  does  not  holler, 
You  can  bet  your  bottom  dollar, 

He'll  keep  trying  till  he'll  win. 


HEast" 

"All  day  the  low  hung  clouds  have  dropped 

Their  garnered  fullness  down," 
All  day  we've  watched  the  snow  flakes  fall, 

Making  a  white  phantom  town, 
Until  at  last  in  the  dusky  eve 

From  work,  we  nomeward  turn 
Where  our  loved  ones  wait  for  us, 

To  welcome  our  nome  return. 
And  as  the  twilight  deepens 

And  the  lights  begin  to  glow 
We  trudge  along  toward  the  ones 

Who's  hearts  are  not  chilled  by  snow. 

21 


Sollllqucs  of  <45lln-ntn  Z3at" 


Written  for  the  Santa  Ana  Daily  Register  by  W.  A. 
Zimmerman,  in  the  hope  that  "these  few  lines"  may 
cause  some  thoughtless  people  to  think. 

I  wonder  where  those  girls  are  at, 

That  used  to  say  they  loved  their  cat! 

For  weeks  they've  left  me  all  alone, 

As   though  their  hearts  were   made  of  stone; 

They  never  even  telephone, 

Nor  send  me  just  a  little  bone. 

'Tis  queer  how  quickly  they  forget 

(Or  seem  to  me,  they  do,)  their  pet; 

And  leave  me  here  alone  to  cry, 

And  think  of  them,  and  wonder  why. 

'Tis  true,  their  Papa  still  stops  here, 

And  sometimes  has  a  word  of  cheer 

For  me  and  "Snowball."    (That's  my  chum)  ; 

But  I  wish  those  little  girls  would  come, 

For  they're  most  as  nice 

As  half  grown  mice. 

There's  no  one  that  can  take  their  place; 

It's  so  far  up  to  their  Papa's  face; 

When  he  stoops  down  to  get  our  cup, 

It's  as  far  away  as  when  they  stand  up. 

There's  no  one  here  to  holler  "Scat" 
When  e'er  that  big  old  -neighbor  cat 
Comes  over  here  and  looks  for  me, 
And  makes  me  hide  up  in  the  tree. 
If   I   could   hear  those   girlies   say  — 
"Scat,  old  Cat,  you  go  away," 
That  would  be  music  sweet,  to  me, 
And  I'd  be  happy  as  could  be. 
I  wonder  if  they'd  scold,  or  laugh, 
If  I'd  call  them  home  by  telegraph! 

22 


Sometimes  their  papa  gives  a  look, 

That  seems  to  say,  "Yes,  you're  forsook," 

And  then  stoops  down  and  strokes  my  fur, 

And  I  at  once  begin  to  purr. 

That's  the  only  way,  you  know, 

I  can  appreciation  show 

For  the  many,  many  times  he's  fed 

"Snowball"  and  me    with  milk  and  bread. 

But  food's  not  all — no,  one  depends 

So  much  for  happiness,  upon  one's  friends. 

So  I'll  mew,  and  mew,  loud  as  I  can, 

And  see  if  some  good-natured  man 

Won't  send  them  word,  and  let  them  know, 

That  I  miss  my  little  playmates  so. 

And  have  them  write  to  me,  and  say — 

"Yes,  'Nin-nin,'  we'll  come  right  away. 

But  I  wonder  what  poor  kitties  do 

That  have  no  one  to  see  them  through, 

While  their  little  playmates  go  away 

To  enjoy  a  change  and  holiday! 

So,  little  friends,  who  these   "mewsings"  read, 

Please  don't  forget  to  provide  the  feed 

For  your  little  pets,  while  you're  away, 

Enjoying  a  happy  holiday. 

Yours  truly,  "Nin-nin  Tat." 

(Which  interpreted  means,  Nigger  Cat). 


23 


$?ou  3fave  (Brown 
Til 


Come,  little  girlie,  and  tell  me, 

What  all  have  you  done  today? 
How  have  you  passed  the  hours, 

While  I've  been  on  duty  away? 
Come,  tell  of  your  joys  and  your  sorrows. 

Do  you  miss  me  as  I  miss  you? 
Come,  sit  on  my  knee,  and  tell  me, 

Do^ou  love  me,  and  is  your  love  true? 
Come,  whisper  it  to  your  dear  daddy, 

Your  round  little  iace  close  to  mine, 
And  give  me  a  kiss  of  affection  — 

Of  love  that  shall  last  for  all  time. 

CHORUS. 
What  will  I  do,  little  girlie 

What  will  I  do  without  you? 
When  you're  grown  up  I'll  miss  you! 
Then  what  will  poor  daddy  do? 

Sure,  I  will  miss  the  sunshine 
And  the  music  of  your  sweet  song. 
When  you  have  grown  up  and  left  me, 

The  years  will  be  heavy  and  long. 

It  seems  such  a  very  short  time  — 

But  time,  we  all  know,  is  on  wing  — 
Since  you  came  to  brighten  my  life, 

Such  a  tiny  and  helpless  wee  thing; 
The  clothes  you  first  wore  just  fit  dolly; 

And  you  —  let  me  see,  is  it  true?  — 
You're  growing  and  growing  so  fast; 

I  scarce  can  believe  it  is  you. 
So,  come,  then,  and  whisper  it  to  me, 

24 


While  I  hold  you  here  on  my  knee, 
With  your  little,  soft  arms  around  me, 
Tell  me  truly  how  much  you  love  me. 
CHORIia 

I  know  that  your  warm,  little  heart 

Has  for  daddy,  a  place  that  will  hold 
Love  for  him,  through  the  changes  that  come, 

As  he,  like  all  else,  shall  grow  old. 
So  I  ask  you  to  promise  me,  girlie, 

That  no  matter  how  long  it  may  be, 
You  always  will  love  and  remember 

The  daddy,  who  dearly  loves  thee; 
And  when  you  are  the  happy  sweetheart, 

Lucky  fellow,  who  e'er  he  may  be, 
You'll  remember  your  lonely,  old  daddy, 

And  the  promise  that  you  have  made  me. 
CHORUS. 


(Tongratulahons 

We've  just  received  announcement, 

That  you  are  "man  and  wife." 
Accept  the  wishes  of  your  friends 

For  a  long  and  nappy  life: 
And,  as  you  journey  on  your  road, 

May  kind  fortune  to  you  deal 
A  very  little  of  the  woe; 

But  abundance  of  the  weal. 


25 


*5  a  Elation  Calling 

There's  a  nation  calling  workers, 

For  men  and  women,  too, 
Who  are  tried  and  not  found  wanting, 

Who  are  fully  tried  and  true, 
Who  will  not  shirk  a  duty 

But  do  with  all  their  might 
What  in  their  light  and  wisdom 

They  believe  to  be  the  right. 
There's  a  nation  calling  loudly, 

Is  calling  lest  we  fall — 
She  calls  the  strong  and  willing: 

Will  you  not  heed  the  call? 

There's    a    nation    calling    foemen 

To  fight  in  the  cause  of  right, 
And  do  it  on  the  Christian  plan 

Of  justice  more  than  might; 
That  will  help  a  fallen  comrade, — 

Tho  one  fall   causes   pain — 
To  rise  and,  with  the  proffered  help, 

Walk  and  live  upright  again. 
There's  a  nation  that  is  pleading — 

Do  you  not  hear  tne  call.' 
She  is  calling,  calling,  calling 

For  true  men  one  and  all. 

'Tis  your  nation  that  is  calling, 

And  the  call  is  clear  and  plain. 
She  needs  a  great  strong  army, 

And  must  not  call  in  vain. 
There's  a  record  in  the  making 

To  be  handed  down  the  ages, 
For  the  records  we  are  writing 

Will  be  carved  on  history's  pages. 
Let  us  make  the  old  world  better, 

Shut  out  graft  and  vice  and  sin, 
And  by  honor,  trutn  and  Christian  life 

Eternal  praises  win; 
So  that  our  people  and  our  country, 

Our  nation  and  our  race, 
Can  make  and  maintain  a  record, 

That  will  win  for  us,  first  place. 


26 


(With  apologies  to  Jerome  K.  Jerome} 

Babies — I  know  nothing  about  them?     Oh,  yes  I  do! 

I  was  one  myself  once,  but  I  rapidly  grew 

Out  of  long  clothes,  I  am  happy  to  say: 

Yet,  I  learned  a  little  of  the  babies'  way 

Before  I  disposed  of  my  long  white  dress, 

Wnich,  to  me,  was  my  greatest  distress. 

Whenever  babies  feel  indisposed,  or  unwell, 

The  way  that  they  cry,  and  kick,  and  yell, 

Turn  red  in  the  face  and  worry  Papa, 

And,  by  holding  their  breath,  frighten  Mamma, — 

Is  a  caution. 

By  the  way,  why  do  mothers  persist  in  dressing 
Babes  in  such  long  clotnes?  To  keep  you  from  guess- 
ing 

Their  true  length?    Are  they  of  that  ashamed, 
Or,  is  it  a  cruel  fashion  custom  has  named? 
I  believe  the  first  baby  is  yet  to  be  seen, 
Whose  clothes  aren't  long  enough  for  a  lass  of  six- 
teen. 

Perhaps  that's  all  right;  I'll  not  say  'tis  not, 
Or  my  meanness  by  mothers  would  ne'er  forgot! 
But  the  baby  itself  is  what  I'm  to  write  about, 
So  I'll  stick  to  my  text  and  not  branch  out 
Onto  their  clothes. 

I  find  that  most  all  new  babies  have  eyes  alike, 

Of  a  liquid  blue,  and  afraid  of  the  light: 

A  smudge  of  a  nose  (speaking  metaphoric), 

And,  most  always,  an  odor  of  paregoric. 

Then,  the  most  careful  observer  never  can  tell, 

By  its  clothes,  whether  it  is  "Johnnie"  or  "Nell." 

27 


They  have  a  round  little  head,  sparsely  mantled  with 

hair, 

And  two  dimpled  feet  to  kick  at  the  air: 
With  hands  they  can't  guide — tnough  hard  they  try — 
Nowhere,  except  to  tneir  mouth  or  their  eye, 
Or,  perhaps,  your  new  tie. 

And  then,  every  baby  must  have  its  full  share 

Of  all  the  diseases  to  which  babies  are  heir: 

The  colic,  the  phthisic,  insomnia  and  croup: 

They  sneeze  with  a  cold,  and  with  whoopingjcough 

whoop. 

Scarlet  fever,  measles,  chicken-pox  and  rash 
At  these  bits  of  humanity,  make  a  bold  dash; 
That  is  rough  on  the  baby,  and  hard  on  your  sleep. 
They  are  a  deal  of  trouble,  and  cost  lots  to  keep, 
Yet,  without  them,  a  home's  not  complete, 
With  their  prattling  tongues,  and  pattering  feet, 
And  mischief-making  hands. 

But  babies,  with  all  their  errors,  and  their  crimes, 

Their  midnight  wails  in  high-keyed  chimes; 

Their  funny  rule  they  always  keep 

To  want  to  cry  when  you're  asleep; 

Or  else  their  needful  nap  to  take 

When  you're  astir  and  wide  awake: 

Their  queer  ideas  of  what  is  fun, 

They  want  you  to,  for  the  doctor  run, 

When  the  night  is  dark,  and  storm  winds  blow. 

Though  they  never  any  mercy  show, 

They  are  useful  little  treasures. 

Sure,  they  are  not  without  their  use; 
To  them,  here  is  my  flag  of  truce. 
Surely  not  without  tneir  use,  nay,  their  part 
Is  to  soothe,  and  fill  an  empty  heart. 

28 


Not  without  their  use,  when  at  their  call, 
Sunbeams  of  love  break  through  the  pall 
That  so  often  clouds  the  care-worn  face, 
Caused  by  defeats  in  life's  great  race; 
No,  not  without  their  use,  I  guess, 
When  their  tiny  baby  fingers  press 
Wrinkles  into  smiles. 

Odd  little  people  they!  wise  as  the  sage; 
On  this,  our  busy  world's  great  stage, 
Unconscious  little  comedians  are  they, 
Supplying  the  humor,  day  after  day, 
In  this  all  too  heavy  drama  o~  life, 
And  binding  together  husband  and  wife. 
They  are  rich  gifts  from  our  Father  above: 
They  strengthen  the  bands  of  family  love; 
Make  house  a  home,  as  nothing  else  can, 
These  tender  twigs  of  woman  and  man, 
The  parents'  pride  and  joy. 

Tney  should  strengthen  parents  love,  we  know, 
Yet,  I've  sometimes  thought,  it  seemed  as  though 
The  first  dividing  wedge,  was  the  tiny  hand, 
That  severed  in  twain  love's  mysterious  band. 
The  purest  of  human  affection  is  mother's  love; 
Of  all  things  earthly  it  towers  above. 
'Tis  the  perfecting  touch  of  a  woman's  life,  and, 
Something  we  coarse-fibered  men,  can  scarce  under- 
stand. 
But,  dear  woman,  do  not  in  your  desire  to  be  a  good 

mother, 

Forget  to  be  a  good  wife,  remember,  there  is  another 
Your  husband,  to  claim  a  part  of  your  love. 


29 


Tor  3tt?  Sweetheart 

Who  says  there  is  no  pleasure 
In  being  a  little  sentimental? 

To  our  soul  and  happiness, 
It  can  not  be  detrimental. 

When  I  behold  the  stars  on  high, 

I  do  with  rapture  start; 
For,  though  many  miles  divide  us 

And  keep  us  far  apart, 
Our  eyes  may  rest  upon  that 

Same  magnificent  view  above, 
And  our  hearts  tnus  be  united   by 

Earthly  ties  of  love. 

Then  give  me  sentiment  enough 

To  sweeten  up  this  life, 
And  offset  the  cares  and  worry 

That  with  us  is  ever  rife; 
Trying  hard  to  capsize  us,  but 

Then,  it  is  no  use, 
For,  when  we  are  bouyed  up  by  love, 

We  seldom  have  the  blues. 
So,  give  me  love  and  sentiment! 

All  that  is  my  share, 
For  it  revives,  invigorates,  like 

The  fresh  pure  mountain  air. 


30 


"Acre's  a  Story,  3ttj    JFVicn&" 


There's  a  story,  my  friend,  tnat  grows  sweet  in  the 
telling, 

A  story  well-founded  and  true. 
It's  a  story  so  dear,  many  true  hearts  are  swelling 

With  this  story,  for  me  and  for  you. 

CHORUS. 

The  story,  the  story,  the  sweetest  that  ever  was  told, 
The  story,  the  story,  the  sweet  story  that  never 

grows  old; 
It  never  grows  old  in  the  telling,  whether  told  in  a 

life  or  in  song  — 

That  Christ  came  and  died  to  redeem  us  —  so  pass 
the  glad  tidings  aiong. 

With  the  Babe  in  the  manger  is  this  story's  begin- 

ning, 

So  humble,  so  precious,  so  lowly, 
Sent  by  God  to  this  earth  to  redeem  us  irom  sinning; 
His  name  has  grown  sacred  and  holy. 
CHORUS. 

To*  the  Christ  on  the  cross  our  eyes  are  now  turning, 

The  cross,  so  cruel  and  ibare; 
Yet  He  bore  it  for  us,  for  His  heart,  it  was  yearning 

That  we  might  in  His  glory  share. 
CHORUS. 

Come  and  accept  this  Savior,  and  his  pardon  so  free; 

Then  just  pass  the  sweet  story  along. 
It  will  help  some  poor  brother  as  it  has  you  and  me. 
Then  sing  the  glad  story  in  song. 

CHORUS. 
31 


Autumn 

The  chill  autumn  winds  are  now  sighing; 

The  dead  leaves  are  strewn  o'er  the  lawn. 
We  can  tell,  the  way  foliage  is  dying, 

That  summer,  bright  summer  is  gone. 

Yet  autumn  itself,  is  but  fleeting, 

And  too  quickly  it  passes  away; 
Then,  winter  with  snow  for  its  greeting, 

Comes,  inviting  us  all  to  be  gay. 

So  do  not  waste  timi  in  fault-finding, 
For  the  winter,  and  snow,  will  soon  pass; 

And  spring,  with  bright  sunshine  is  returning, 
With  the  birds,  the  flowers  and  grass'. 

Spring,  too,  like  the  autumn  and  winter, 
Must  hasten,  not  loiter  or  play; 

For  nature  has  only  just  sent  her, 
To  prepare  for  the  summer  a  way. 


32 


^picture 

(To  My  Sweetheart) 
I  wish  I  could  draw  you  a  picture! 
A  simple  word  picture,  I  mean. 
I  would  draw  you  the  fairest  picture 
That  ever  your  eyes  have  seen: 
One  of  earth's  fairest  flowers, 
A  woman,  "God's  master-piece!" 
As  pure  as  the  spotless  lily, 
A  gem  in  earth's  mortal  bower. 

If  I  could  I'd  draw  you  a  picture ! 

The  one  I  so  plainly  see; 

I  am  sure  you  would  like  the  picture, 

For,  from  flaw,  it  is  wholly  free: 

In  yon  sick-room  just  draw  the  curtain 

And  behold  what  before  you  lies ! 

Convalescent, — each  day  growing  stronger, 

A  beautiful  picture!  Yes?  Certain. 

Look  now,  with  me  on  the  picture! 

See  there,  that  pale,  lovely  face; 

Soft  blue  eyes  look  out  from  the  picture 

And  invite  you  nearer,  apace! 

A  wealth  of  rich  auburn  tresses    lies 

Around  that  sweet  face  on  the  pillow 

Forming  a  picture  so  fair, 

You  can  never  forget  'neath  the  skies. 

See  those  lips  now,  in  the  picture. 

They  part  with  the  sweetest  smile, 

And  we  see  a  blush   come  on  the  picture, 

— Her  lover  has  answered  tne  smile — 

Now  on  those  half-parted  lips  waits  a  kiss  for  me, 

I  gladly  stoop  down  and  take  it, 

For,  my  sweetheart  is  the  "convalescent," 

And  I  am  the  lover,  you  see? 

33 


To  my  bachelor  friends  who  think  themselves  inde- 
pendent, self -controllable,  love-proof  beings, — this 
poem  is  respectfully  dedicated.  The  reason  for  its 
existence  is  to  depict  to  them  the  erroneousness  of 
their  much  cherished  and  exalted  ideas  of  being  fully 
able  to  withstand  the  charm,  sweet  faces,  and  smiles 
of  the  Queens  of  Creation. 

Time  (and  my  own  experiments  and  experience) 
clearly  demonstrate  the  fact  that  they  are  being 
grossly  deceived  in  cherishing  such  ideas,  for,  when 
Captain  Cupid  marshals  his  forces  against  you — even 
though  they  consist  of  no  more  than  one  weak 
woman,  who  would  retreat  from  a  mouse — you  stand 
no  more  show  than  a  pound  of  ice  beneath  the  rays 
of  a  tropical  July  sun. 

However,  there  is  some  consolation  in  such  defeat, 
although  surrendering,  we  may  march  off  triumph- 
antly with  the  prize — a  "Captor  made  Captive." 

THE  AUTHOR. 

I  want  to  be  a  bachelor, 

And  with  the  bachelors  stand; 
They   are   so   interesting, 

And  such  a  jolly  'band; 
We  rise  up  in  the  morning, 

Take  our  breakfast  all  alone; 
No  darling  little  children 

To  help  pick  our  "ham  bone." 

I  want  to  be  a  bachelor, 

It  seems  to  be   such  fun; 
Nobody  else's  business 

Only  just  your  own  to  run. 
Oh,  how  his  face  is  beaming, 

34 


Whene'er  you  chance  to  meet 
This   independent   creature, 
As  he  rides  down  the  street. 

I  want  to  be  a  bachelor, 

At  least  while  I  am  young; 
A  well-fed,  handsome  creature, 

And  hear  my  praises  sung 
By  all  old  maids,  and  maidens, 

Who  like  my  style,  and  gait, — 
And  wonder  why,  on  marriage  seas, 

I  ne'er  launched  my  fate. 

I  want  to  be  a  bachelor, 

So  I  can  sleep  all  night; 
The  attractions  seem  so  very  small, 

To  get  up  and  strike  a  light 
To  pour  out  paregoric 

(And  bad  oaths)  'till  you're  blue; 
Then  to  be  told,  tne  infant 

So  much  resembles  you. 

I  want  to  be  a  bachelor 

The  balance  of  my  life; 
And,  if  I  never  fall  in  love — 

Of  course,  I'll  have  no  wife. 
Don't  laugh  at  me,  nor  pity  me, 

My  heart  is  made  of  stone; 
So  I  feel  that  I'm  quite  capable 

To  face  the  world  alone. 

I  want  to  be  a  bachelor — 
Yes,  that's  what  I  am  now; 

One  week  ago  tomorrow 
I  made  my  bachelor  bow. 

It  seems  so  very  novel 


35 


To  think  I've  gone  "Scott  free," 
And,  what  is  so  much  better, 
I  always  am  to  be. 

I  want  to  be  a  bachelor, 

And  wear  a  high  silk  hat; 
If  you're  a  common  married  man, 

You  scarcely  can  do  that. 
Your  shiny  patent  leathers 

Would  surely  have  to  go; 
But,  instead  of  shining  shoes, 

Your  shiny  coat  would  show. 

I  want  to  be  a  bachelor; 

Yes,  that  I  do  declare; 
No  angry  wife  to  fly  at  me 

And  pull  out  all  my  hair. 
Then,  those  dainty  little  feet 

(Always  cold  as  ice), 
Snug  up  against  your  warm  ones: 

You  bet  your  life  that's  nice. 

I  want  to  be  a  bachelor; 

I  should  not  like  to  "gee  and  naw;" 
And  fly  around  from  morn  till  night 

To  please  a  mother-in-law. 
To  be  a  beast  of  burden, 

Bring  in  the  coal  and  water, 
And  make  myself  so  useful 

Just  to  save  her  daughter. 

I  want  to  be  a  bachelor, 

So  when  I'm  late  at  night, 
I  can  come  in  and  go  to  rest, 

No  wife's  tears  to  fight. 
And,  . .  I  should  fall  up  stairs 

36 


(Because  there  is  no  light), 
I'll  not  be  met  in  my  own  door 
With,  "Why,  Man,  I  believe  you're  tignt. ' 

I  want  to  be  a  bachelor 

And  sit  upon  my  throne, 
Monarch  of  myself  and  home, 

To  rule  them  both  alone. 
Oh,  married  life  is  very  nice — 

That  is,  if  you  are  boss; 
But  too  many  times,  I  fear, 

We  find  it  "Hoss  and  Hoss." 

I  want  to  be  a  bachelor, 

Not  that  I  may  live  "fast," 
But  to  enjoy  single  blessedness 

That,  I  am  "sure,  will  last. 
But  look — my  eyes  deceive  me  not! 

See!   crossing  o'er  the  street. 
No,  that's  no  empty  vision! 

By  Jove,  but  she  is  neat! 

I  want  to  be  a  bachelor, 

But  that  vision  makes  me  start. 
I  wonder  what  that  feeling  is 

That  flutters  'round  my  heart? 
Hurry — don't  lose  sight  of  her! 

Oh,  dear,  I  feel  so  queer: 
My  brain's  all  in  a  whirl! 

No,  I've  not  been  drinking  beer. 

I  want  to  be  a  bachelor — 

But,  oh,  that  lovely  face! 
And  such  a  form  I  ne  re  nave  seen — 

A  fawn  has  no  such  grace! 
I  am  not  mad — she  smiled  on  me; 

37 


And,  oh,  such  lovely  eyes! 
I  feel  as  though  I  suddenly 
Dropped  into  Paradise. 

I  want  to  be  a  bachelor — 

But  that  ibewitcning  face! 
What's  that  you  say? — No  fooling,  Tom, 

What!  that  your  sister  Grace? 
Oh,  Tom,  do  me  one  favor,  please, 

If  you  never  do  another; 
Introduce  me  to  your  sister — 

I  should  like  to  be  your  brother. 


I  did  want  to  be  a  bachelor, 

But  such  whims  and  I  must  part; 
For  the  gay  and  festive  Cupid 

Drove  an  arrow  through  my  heart. 
Tom  kindly  introduced  me, 
And  my  praises  loud  did  sing: 
I  go  there  seven  times  a  week, 
And  have  bought  a  diamond  ring. 

I  did  want  to  be  a  bachelor, 

A  thing  now  of  the  past; 
For,  in  love's  subtle  meshes, 

I'm  held  secure  and  fast. 
You  make  a  very  great  mistake 

If  you  think  single  life  is  bliss. 
If  you  would  have  real  pleasure, 

Enjoy  a  sweetheart's  kiss. 

I  did  want  to  be  a  bachelor, 

But  now  I've  changed  my  mind, 
And  left  such  foolish  notions 

Far — yes,  far  behind. 
Forgive  me  all  the  cruel  things 

I've  said  of  married  life; 
For,  in  just  one  month  from  Sunday, 

She,  will  become  my  wife. 


38 


3fer 

Let  me  sing  you  a  ditty, 

Of  my  babe,  "Sweet,"  so  pretty; 

She  is  just  three  years  old, 

And,  so  fair  to  behold, 

You  could  not  help  but  love 

The  sweet  little  dove; 

And  worship  her,  too, 

The  same  as  I  do. 

She's  the  sweetest  of  girls, 

With  golden  brown  curls; 

And  her  eyes  are  as  (blue 

As  the  violets  so  true. 

The  dear  little  Grace 

Is  in  the  right  place; 

For  she  makes     our    home  bright, 

From  morn    until  night. 

When  I  come  home  at  night. 

To  our  fireside,  so  bright, 

Made  so  by  Mamma  and  "Sweet;" 

Then  my  dear  little  Miss, 

Has  for  Papa  a  kiss, 

And  pussy    must    take    a    back    seat. 

Do  you  wonder    I  love 
This  sweet  little  dove, 
With  a  face  like  the  fairy's, 
And  her  lips  liKe  red  cherries? 
She's  the  dearest  of  girls, 
With  her  golden  brown  girls; 
No  pouting  and  fusses, 
But  all  smiles  and  caresses. 


39 


At  the  close  of  the  day, 
When  tired  of  play; 
Her  evening  prayers  s.aid, 
And  all  tucked  up  in  bed; 
Then,  the  angels  I'm  sure, 
Will  watch  over  her 
All  through  the  night, 
Until  morning  light. 

Must  I  tell  you  the  rest? 

Or  have  you  quite  guess'd 

The  reasons  wny  I  love  her? 

One  is,  she  s  the  gift  of 

Our  Father  above, 

And  the  other, 

Well,  she's  just  like  her  mother. 

He  had  been  going  regularly, 

For  several  Sunday  nights; 
And,  so  he  thought  his  Lady  Love 

Was  surely  his,  by  rights: 
And  now  he  plead  in  passionate  tones, 

The  best  he  could  command; 
And  for  further  inspiration, 

He  gently  pressed  her  uand. 

"I  love  you,  love  you,  darling  one! 

Yes,  better  than  my  life. 
I  can  not  live  witnout  you! 

Will  you  be  my  wife? 
O!  tell  me  that  you  love  me  too, 

Answer  with  a  kiss! 
Then  soon  I'll  make  you  Mistress, 

Instead  of  simply,  Miss." 

"Do  answer  quick,  my  angel,  sweet, 

40 


Say  you'll  be  my  wife! 
Save  me  from  suicide,  say  yes, 

And  save  my  life." 
But  still  the  answer  did  not  come, 
No  more  than  as  if  she  slumbered! 
He  then  began  to  realize, 

Perhaps  his  days  were  numbered. 

She  looked  at  him  with  dreamy  eyes 

He  scarce  could  understand; 
But,  somehow  he  understood  enough 

To  make  him  drop  her  hand! 
She  then  to  him  her  answer  gave, 

(But  they  did  not  "touch  noses") 
"When  you're  dead,  I'll  send  you,  George, 

A  broken  pillar  of  roses." 


What  is  it?    Only  a  blot  of  ink! 

Caused  by  what?  A  blunder. 
Yet  it  is  enough,  I  think, 

To  make  the  writer  say,  OH,  THUNDER! 
That  is,  if  the  writer  should  be  a  man, 

And  the  blot  on  a  fine  love  letter; 
But,  if  a  lady, — of  course,  she  can 

Control  her  language  oetter. 


41 


Spook*! 


Night!   Still  and  solemn  night! 
When  nature  has  blown  out  her  light; 
And  we  are  left  to  spooks'  revenge, 
'Tis  then  our  flesh  will  creep  and  cringe 
At  sounds  we  hear,  or  seem  to  hear; 
Sometimes  afar,  sometimes  quite  near, 
Whether  fancied,  or  real  sincere, 
'Tis  sure  to  give  a  feeling  queer 
And   make   us   wish,   yes   wish   that  we 
Had  some  one,  any  one,  for  company. 

Then  come  those  cruel  sounds,  so  weird, 

We  can  not  help  feel  "afeard"; 

And  start  at  the  sound  of  a  donkey  braying, 

Or,  from  afar,  some  old  hound  baying, 

As  though  it  was  old  Satan  praying 

For  our  bones,  and  saying, 

Come  unto  me,  ye  wicked  sinner, 

On  the  earth  you've  been  a  winner; 

But  I  have  got  my  eye  on  you, 

And  soon  will  have  you  in  the  stew. 

We  strain  our  ears  to  catch  a  sound 

That  seems  to  come  up  from  the  ground; 

And,  then,  much  to  our  surprise, 

It  seems  to  come  down  from  the  skies; 

Then,  do  we  hear  it  from  behind, 

And  turn  our  eyes,  only  to  find 

That  all  is  dark,  or  we  are  blind! 

Then  again,  that  sound  came  from  behind, 

Which  makes  us  writhe  as  though  in  pain, 

And  we  think  we  hear  that  sound  again. 

We  hold  our  breath,  and  tremble  so,— 

42 


We  scarcely  know  which  way  to  go, — 
We   think   we'll   die, — we    surely    will — 
Then  everything  grows  calm,  and  still; 
If  you  ne'er  have  felt,  you  can  not  guess 
How  such  awful  stillness  does  oppress, 
And  make  you  think  you  will  confess 
All  your  sins,  and  them  redress. 
Then,  again,  you  hear  that  prayer 
Of  Satan,  on  the  midnight  air. 

We  feel  the  cold  chills  down  our  back, 
And  seem,  to  so  much  courage  lack 
Because  'tis  night,  yea,  awful  night! 
And  nature's  eyes  are  closed  up  tight. 
We  hear  the  moan  of  a  gentle  breeze, 
As  it  plays  among  some  stately  trees, 
It  seems  our  very  blood  to  freeze, 
Except  that  part  around  our  knees — 
Which  smite  each  other,  as  you  hear 
Or  think  you  do,  old  Satan,  near. 

We  pray  for  daylight  to  come  quick, 
Before  we'er  captured  by  'Old  Nick." 
We  now  can  almost  feel  the  hold 
Of  his  bony  hand,  clammy  and  cold. 
Oh!  how  we  wish  we  had  a  gun 
That  would  shoot  a  ball,  big  as  the  sun; 
We  would  blow  old  Satan  up,  for  fun — 
Or  make  him  back  to  Hades  run. 
But  hark!   Our  hair  does  stand  on  end, 
As  that  sound  again  the  air  does  rend. 

And  then  we  hear  some  awful  groan 
Which  seems  to  come  from  Satan's  throne. 
We  s^em  to  hear  a  muffled  tread, 
Coming  from  the  regions  red. 


43 


We  hear  a  plain  though  gentle  tap, 

Which  sounds  just  like  a  spirit's  rap. 

We  hear  a  sound  like  wings  "aflap," 

You  feel  a  hand  upon  your  nap; 

You  sink  right  down  in  dire  despair 

As  you  think  its  the  answer  to  his  prayer. 

Oh!  What  would  you  give,  if  only  we 

Were  from  this    spooky"  feeling  free, 

And  would  not  feel  so  queer  at  night, 

When  we're  alone  and  nave  no  light! 

And  would  not  hear  strange  footsteps  tread, 

And  direful  thoughts  pass  througu  our  head; 

And  recall  all  bad  things  we  have  said 

Of  those  alive,  and  those  that's  dead; 

And  would  not  hear  so  very  clear, 

What  sounds  so  much  like  Satan's  prayer. 


Ifeart 

Oh!    how  the  balby  sobbed  and  cried; 

Oh!    how  he  yelled  and  hollowed! 
You'd  thought  his  last  friend  had  just  died, 

By  the  way  he  howled  and  bellowed. 

The  father  came  a  rushing  in, 
And  around  the  house  he  flew; 

He  had  the  nurse  search  for  a  pin, — 
It  must  be  that,  he  knew. 

The  mother  sat  quite  motionless, 

The  trying  ordeal  through. 
At  last  she  said:       "Why  can't  you  guess, 
He's  just  found  out  he  looks  like  you." 


44 


of 


O  think  of  the  'bliss 

That  there  is  in  a  kiss; 

If  you're  clever,  and  calm  in  its  capture; 

If  you  are  only  aware 

You  should  tate  it  with  care, 

It  will  fill  your  whole  soul  with  rapture. 

Oh!  the  joy  and  the  bliss 

That  there  is  in  a  kiss; 

Sweet   and  fervent,  —  you  long  can  remember  — 

If  received  from  your  girl, 

When  out  for  "a  whirl" 

A  nice  moonlit  night  in  September. 

Some  girls  are  quite  slow, 

To  their  kisses  bestow 

On  all  'cept  their  father  or  mother,  — 

But  do  not  feel  blue, 

For  still  there's  a  few 

Who  would  rather  kiss  you    than  a  brother. 

Oh,  the  rapture!  the  bliss! 

There  is  in  a  kiss, 

If  you  can  give  it  with  finish  and  neatness; 

'Tis  delicious,  (all  grant  it) 

If  you  but  dare  plant  it 

On  her  lips,  the  center  of  sweetness. 

But  don't  be  a  fool, 

And  try  to  follow  a  rule; 

Some  old  set  rule,  until  you  are  gray  : 

If  success  you'd  achieve, 

And  full  bliss  you'd  receive, 

Just  do  it  the  girl's  favorite  way. 

There  are  sweet  little  kisses 

For  babies  —  for  misses  — 

And  your  sweetheart,  you  sometimes  'most  smother; 

They  are  nice,  (I'll  be  fair), 

But  none  can  compare 

With  the  kiss  of  the  wife  or  the  mother. 

45 


Z5oast 

A  toast  to  the  B.  C.  I.  S.  S.  girls  of  the  Presby- 
terian Sunday  School,  Santa  Ana,  California,  April 
first,  nineteen  hundred  fourteen,  by  their  teacher 
W.  A.  Z.>  at  a  dinner  given  by  tne  losers  in  a  class 
contest. 


A  race  fairly  lost  might  be  worse; 
It  might  be  dishonestly  won, 
So  cheer  up,  losers. 


Here's  to  the  B.  C.  I.  S.  S.  Girls, 

To  their  health  and  to  their  work, 
To  the  career,  of  the  lassies  dear, 

And  duty  they  will  not  shirk; 
May  their  lives  !be  blessed  with  all  that's  best, 

And  may  they  all  ring  true. 
May  they  help  one  anotner  and  stand  by  eacn  other, 

Each  do  what  they  find  to  do. 
May  they  find  life's  load  as  they  tread  life's  road 

Not  too  heavy  for  them  to  bear. 
May   there   be   no   dark  night,   may   their   days   be 
bright 

And  the  weather  be  mostly  fair. 
Then  raise  with  me  the  sparkling  glass 

Filled  with  water,  pure  and  clear, 
Which  is  an  emblem  of  the  lives  they  live, 

Filled  with  Christ  and  His  good  cheer. 

46 


Girls,  how  many  of  you  kiss  your  mother  good 
night  and  good  morning?  A  loving  kiss  is  a  wonder- 
ful antidote  for  a  carefurrowed  brow  and  a  tired 
heart. 

All  through  your  life,  in  joy  and  in  sorrow,  that 
loving  mother  kiss  nas  never  failed  you,  and  now  it 
is  your  turn. 

Your  mother  is  the  best  friend  you  ever  had  or 
ever  will  have.  All  the  world,  father,  brother,  sister, 
husband,  child,  friends,  may  desert  you,  but  shining 
steadfast  and  true,  through  good  report  and  ill,  will 
be  the  beautiful  mother  love  that  has  been  yours 
ever  since  you  were  first  placed  in  her  arms — a  tiny 
pink-faced  baby. 

What  are  you  giving  in  return  for  all  these  years 
of  self-sacrifice  and  devotion? 

Are  you  lifting  the  burdens  from  her  weary 
stooped  shoulders  and  placing  your  strong  youth  at 
her  service?  Are  you  giving  her  a  treat  sometimes 
by  taking  her  to  some  place  of  amusement  or  (bring- 
ing her  some  pretty  little  adornment  mat  she  would 
never  think  of  buying  for  herself?  Remember*  that 
she  is  still  a  woman,  even  if  she  is  old  and  wrinkled, 
and  that  she  will  love  pretty  things  till  sue  dies.% 

Tell  her  your  secrets*  and  jokes.  iShe  will  keep 
the  former  and  enjoy  the  latter.  Make  her  sit  down 
while  you  do  the  work  that  she  has  always  done. 

You  owe  all  this  to  her;  it  is  a  debt  of  honor  that 
will  take  all  the  years  she  is  spared  you  for  you  to 
repay. 

Some  day  those  loving,  patient  eyes  will  close 
forever,  and  the  dear,  toil-hardened  hands  will  be 
quietly  folded  and  then  with  a  passion  of  regret  you 
will  realize  tnat  you  never  did  half  enougu  for  her. 

Do  it  now  and  save  yourself  this  suffering.— Se- 
lected. 

47 


Contrast 

A  GOOD  woman,  is  the  lovliest  flower 

That  blooms  'neath  the  heaven  above! 
She  cheers  up  man,  in  his  darkest  hour, 

And  sweetens  his  life  with  her  precious  love: 
She  urges  him  on  to  his  greatest  power; 

For,  what  will  man  not  do  for  woman's  love? 
Whether  she  live  in  house,  castle  or  cot, 

Her  sweet,  pure  influence  is  never  forgot. 

But  when  a  woman  to  frivolity  is  given, 

And  by  its  current,  so  sweeping  and  strong, 
From  the  port  of  pure  love  and  virtue  is  driven, 

And  in  broad  sinful  seas  she  flounders  along, 
With  her  allegiance  to  God  widely  assunder  riven, — 

Is  hse  then  not  a  powerful  stimulus  to  wrong, 
Dragging  men  down  into  the  lowest  depths, 

Fulfilling,  to  a  letter,  "His  Satanic"  precepts;? 

Young  women!  YOU  are  the  architects!  Build,  then, 
as  you  will, 

Your  character  in  the  mire,  or  on  purities  hill; 
Draft  well  your  plans, — each  part  to  fit, — 

And  make  this  world  better  for  having  lived  in  it. 
For  the  women  do,  we  scarce  need  be  told, 

The  key  to  Life's  greatest  problems   hold; 
Then,  whether  your  station  be  lowly  or  high, 

To  fill  it  with  honor,  you  ever  should  try. 


48 


Single 


After  a  careful  perusal 
Of  your  gentle  refusal, 
I  hasten  to  metion 
It  is  not  my  intention 
To  give  you  a  second  chance 
To  hurl  such  a  lance 
At  my  honest  heart; 
Therefore,  we  must  part  — 
Forever! 

You  are,  perhaps  (?)  quite  sincere, 
But  your  actions  so  queer; 
I'm  sure  you  don't  love 
Me  all  others  above. 
The  truth  it  must  be, 
(Or  it  looks  so  to  me) 
It's  a  fact,  my  young  elf, 
You're  in  love  with  yourself  — 
Forever! 

But,  after  long  years  of  loving, 
Of  "honeying"  and  "doving," 
We  will  not  spoil  the  moral 
And  end  in  a  quarrel, 
But  simply  say  "quits," 
As  I  don't  like  "misfits;" 
For  your  life  and  mine, 
I  see  will  not  rhyme  — 

Forever  ! 

I'm  a  poor  man,  you  see, 
With  a  heart  all  for  thee; 
But  it  makes  some  hearts  cold 
To  compare  love  with  gold; 


49 


And  its  bright  yellow  hue 
Has  great  attractions  ior  you: 
So,  without  malice  or  strile, 
I  don't  want  such  a  wife — 
Forever! 

So  a  bachelor  I'll  be, 

With  some  sad  thoughts 

Not  whining  nor  repining, 

But  in  my  large  chair  reclining; 

No  children  to  cry, 

No  beefsteak  to  buy; 

Simply  live  easy  and  enjoy  life: 

For  I'll  have  <no  wire — 

Forever ! 

You  are  free  now,  behold! 
So  go  marry  for  gold; 
It  may  happiness  give 
As  long  as  you  live; 
For  some  die  young,  I  am  told, 
Who  marry  for  gold. 
You've  no  risK  to  take — 
Only  your  happiness  at  stake — 
Forever ! 

Such  a  courtsmp  was  ours — 
Naught  but  pleasure  and  flowers! 
From  the  other,  not  one  harsh  word 
Have  our  ears  ever  heard; 
Only  love  and  caresses, 
And  lots  of  sweet  kisses. 
All — all,  now 'is  past: 
Such  sweet  love  could  not  last — 
Forever! 


50 


Still,  life  is  worth  living, 
If  for  naught  but  forgiving. 
So,  contented  I'll  be, 
With  no  maiice  for  thee; 
But  live  on — not  blind, — 
And  some  day  iviAY  find 
A  sweet  little  wife, 
To  be  the  joy  of  my  life — 
Forever! 

One  who  will  love  me  for  what  I  am  worth, 
And  think  me  the  dearest  of  men  upon  earth. 
To  just  such  a  wife 
I  could  devote  my  whole  life — 
'Though  of  my  poor  heart 
You  have  a  large  part. 
But  I'll  have  to  forget 
You,  and  be  happy  yet — 
Forever ! 

So  good-bye,  my  old  love 
'Till  I  meet  you  above. 
May  your  life  here  on  earth 
Be  full  of  joy  and  mirth; 
And  I  hope  that  you  can 
Find  your  ideal  (moneyed)  man. 
But,  if  ever  in  need  of  a  true  friend  you  be, 
Be  not  afraid  to  call  upon  me — 
Forever! 


51 


(Bood  Mews 

I've  just  received  a  telegram! 

Can  you  guess  the  news? 
It's  from  my  wife, — to  read  it 

Drives  away  the  blues; 
She's  coming  home  tomorrow. 

And  I  tell  you  I  am  glad; 
She's  been  away  two  months, 
And  what  a  lonesome  time  I've  nad. 

She's  been  to  spend  the  summer 

With  friends  in  Eastern  States; 
And  I've  looked  at  the  calendar 

'Till  I've  worn  off  all  the  dates. 
The  days  seemed  to  be  standing  still, 

Each  one  seemed  a  year. 
Life  is  not  worth  living, 

Without  my  wifie  dear. 

I'll  not  attempt  to  tell  you 

All  the  trouble  I  have  had; 
Between  keeping  house   and  (boarding, 

It's  enough  to  drive  one  mad. 
You  don't  care  to  visit  friends 

Who  are  enjoying  life; 
For  each  such  visit  only  serves 

To  remind  me  of  my  wife. 

The  club  seems  hollow  mockery, 

I  guess  it's  lost  its  power; 
There  is  nothing  there  to  please 

Or  amuse  you  for  an  hour. 
But  she's  coming  home  tomorrow! 

Oh,  how  happy  I  shall  be 
When  the  time  of  meeting  has 


Arrived,  and  she's  at  home  with  me! 

As  I  read  that  message  o'er  and  o'er, 

I  can  whistle,  dance  and  sing; 
And  I  feel  almost  as  good  as  when 

I  bought  our  wedding  ring. 
Talk  about  your  having  fun 

When  your  wife's  away! 
I'd  ratner  have  her  nome  a  year 

Than  be  alone  a  day. 


TCittle 

There  is  a  little  highwayman, 
And  still  he  plays  his  game; 

A  bold  and  daring  thief  they  say, 
Dan  Cupid  is  his  name. 

Some  how,  in  tne  dear  dead  past, 
That  fast  retreating  day 
The  little  robber  came  to  me, 
And  stole  my  heart  away. 

I  care  not  now,  nor  worry, 
O'er  such  a  loss  as  this; 
For  the  little  thief,  in  doing  so, 
Brought  me  a  gift  of  bliss. 

For  in  his  mad-cap  plunder, 

In  some  mysterious  way, 
He  left  it  with  a  sweetheart  true, 

Who  holds  it,  to  this  day. 


53 


3Mue  TE?es,  Cease  ^our 

There's  a  girlie  that's  true, 

And  Her  eyes  are  as  blue 

As  the  azure  that's  up  in  the  sky. 

She  is  happy  and  gay, 

And  she's  always  that  way, 

When  you  see  her  you'll  never  ask  why. 

She  is  Nature's  own  fairy, 

And  her  glances,  they  carry 

Just   like  a   Cupid's   love  dart, 

When  she  aims  at  a  fellow, 

She  can  make  him  quite  mellow, 

For  she  shoots  straight  through  the  heart. 

CHORUS. 

So,  please,  dear  girl, 
Let  your  blue  eyes  go  sleeping, 
And  rest  from  their  peeping, 
Let  them  close,  and  stop  teasing  me. 
Let  them  sleep  in  their  nest, 
And  forget  all  the  rest, 
And  just  dream,  sweetheart,  of  me. 

Now,  this  dear  little  sweetheart, 
She  can  draw  you  by  such  art, 
You  scarcely  feel  you  are  slipping, 
If  a  kiss  you  could  steal 
You'd  be  happy,  and  feel 
Love's  nectar  cup  truly  you're  sipping. 
I  would  take  a  long  chance 
For  a  word  or  a  glance, 
And  be  willing  to  call  it  my  fate, 
If  she  could  only  just  guess, 
And  would  answer  me,  "Yes," 
I  want  her  to  be  my  own  mate. 
CHORUa 


54 


She  has  such  a  sweet  smile, 

That  it's  really  worth  while, 

Her  favors  to  merit  and  seek, 

Her  teeth's  pearly  rows 

She  so  artmlly  shows, 

And  a  dimple  on  either  soft  cheek. 

So,  dear  sweetheart,  don't  scold, 

If  I've  grown  very  bold, 

If  I  offer  myself  and  my  heart, 

For  your  wireless  call 

Has  got  me,  that's* all, 

And  Cupid  has  loosened  his  dart. 

CHORUS. 

So,  please,  dear  girl, 
Let  your  blue  eyes  keep  peeping, 
For  my  heart  has  ceased  sleeping. 
It's  throbbing,  my  dearest,  for  thee. 
I  love  you  the  best, 
So  forget  all  the  rest, 
And  just  dream,   sweetheart,   of  me. 


55 


(Choose  your  beacon 

As  you're  sailing  o'er  life's  ocean 

Are  the  billows  tossing  high? 
Is  the  light  of  Heaven  dimming, 

Have  the  clouds  o'ercast  your  sky? 
Are  you  erring,  are  you  fearing 

That  your  boat  will  meet  with  loss? 
Take  advice  from  the  Great  Mariner, 

Steer  directly  to  the  Cross! 

CHORUS 

Fear  not  the  storms,  nor  angry  billows  foaming. 
Steer  to  the  Cross  and  cease  your  chartless  roaming. 
You  need  no  other  compass,  you  cannot  suffer  loss, 
If  you  will  heed  the  warning,  and  be  guided  by  the 
Cross. 

You  can  waste  your  time  and  chances 

Of  reaching  port  that's  safe  to  land: 
If  you  pick  the  erring  beacon  light, 

You'll  be  beached  upon  tne  sand. 
There'll  be  sorrow  on  the  morrow, 

For  you  then  will  know  your  loss — 
Heed  the  warning  of  your  Saviour 

Let  your  beacon  be  the  Cross! 
CHORUS 

It's  the  light  that  leads  to  glory, 

It  will  bring  you  safely  home, 
Matters  not  what  tongue  you  speak 

Nor  what  land  or  sea  you  roam. 
Keep  on  trying,  colors  flying, 

And  you  then  will  surely  gain 
Entrance  to  that  harbor  safe, 

Where  the  Prince  of  Peace  doth  reign. 
CHORUS 

56 


The  harbor  calm  is  waiting  us, 
We  have  but  to  enter  in 
And  anchor  in  its  waters, 

Free  from  vice  and  stain  of  sin. 
You  should  take  it  nor  forsake  it — 

This  precious  Cross — before  you've  passed 
The  entrance  to  that  harbor. 

That  takes  you  safely  home  at  last. 
CHORUS 


Z3l)c  battle  (tall 

There's  a  foe;  Oh,  Christian  soldiers, 
That  should  make  us  rise  and  think 

It's  the  serpent  of  intemperance 
It's  the  awful  curse  of  drink. 

Arouse,  ye  Christian  soldiers, 
With  all  your  might  and  main, 

Fight  on,  Oh,  Christian  soldiers, 
May  you  not  fight  in  vain. 

This  awful  foe,  that  brings  but  woe, 
Must  vanish  from  our  sight, 

Fight  on,  Oh,  Christian  soldiers, 
Fight  on  with  all  your  might. 

Fight  on  and  do  your  duty — 
Let  your  valor  never  wane, 

Fight  on,  Oh,  Christian  soldiers, 
Till  this  monster  you  have  slain. 

57 


^Felicitation 

(To  Clarence  and  Velda  June  28,  1912) 

Congratulations — yes,  my  friends,  an  hundredfold; 

And  good  wishes,  all  our  hearts  can  hold. 

So  take  your  marriage  vows  in  sweet  affection; 

Just  remember  that  it  does  not  pay 

To  spend  one's  life  in  finding  fault, 
Or  searching  for  the   other's   imperfection. 
We're  only  human;   so  if  happy  live, 
Have  patience  plenty,  love  and  torgive. 

The  reward  is  yours  for  reaping. 

If  after  many  years  of  married  life, 
You  are  smiling  still,  as  man  and  wife, 
And  in  each  other's  company  and  love, 

You  would  rather  spend  your  time 

Than  with  any  other  person 
Under  the  stars  above; 
It's  a  pretty  good,  safe  guess, 
That  you'll  be  happy,  yes — 

Even  though  you're  married. 


58 


(In  California) 

The  autumn  rain  has  come  a  dropping 
And  'twill  start  the  grass  agrowing 
In  the  valleys,  on  the  plains  and  hills, 
Yes,  all  Nature  seems  to  smile 
And  says  "Wait  a  little  while 
See  the  tender  germination, 
And   the   splendid   transformation 
Just  watch  the  new  life  budding, 
And  putting  on  the  frills. 

The  great  live  oaKs  seem  greener 

All  the  woodland  shrubs  are  cleaner 

In   the  valleys,   on  the  plains   and   hills. 

The  mistletoe  so  soft  and  clinging, 

In  her  rich  green,  gently  swinging 

From  branches  of  the  rugged  sycamore. 

And  then  another  thing  we  all  adore 

Is  the  bright  red  holly  oerries 

Which  our  hearts  with  joy  of  Christmas  fills 

When  harvest's   in,  and  it  don't  matter, 

Then  I  love  to  hear  the  rain  drops  patter 

As  I  lie  in  bed  and  think 

How  glad  nature  is  to  drink 

At  this  fountain,  aye  forsooth, 

Fountain   of   renewing   youth, 

And  we  know  this  is  the  why, 

A  rich  harvest  bye  and  oye, 

Will  pay  those  who  plow  and  sow 

For  we  all  of  California  know 

What  it  means  to  hear 

The  Autumn  rain  drops  fall. 

59 


's  '"possum  Supper 


Old  Ephriam  Snow  was  a  good  old  man, 

A  pious  old  man,  if  you  please. 
He  lived  down  South  after  slavery  days, 

By  the  sweet  magnolia  trees. 
He  lived  all  alone  in  his  little  hut, 

Where  the  balmy  South  winds  blow, 
For  his  wife  and  cnildren  had  been  sold 

Into  slavery  long  ago. 
He  worked  all  day,  and  he  prayed  each  night; 

His  prayers  were  long,  'tis  true, 
And  you  had  to  sit  and  sit  and  sit 

While  he  asked  the  blessin'  througn, 
For  his  faith  was  deep  that  the  Lord  would  keep 

Under  His  protecting  wing 
All  good  folks,  whether  white  or  black, 

If  they'd  only  pray  and  sing. 

The  autumn  winds  were  sighing  now, 

The  leaves  began  to  fall, 
The  Indian  summer  days  were  passed, 

And  old  Ephriam  felt  the  call 
Of  the  inner  man,  for  that  morsel  sweet 

To  the  colored  man  that  time  of  year, 
Some  juicy  possum   meat. 

He  knew  the  possum  now  was  fit 
To  make  a  dainty  dish, 

Just  baked  with  sweet  taters 
And  such,  was  sure  a  tempting  wish. 

But  to  get  that  precious  possum 
Was  sure  a  task  not  light; 

'T  would  take  old  Ephriam  and  his  ^.^^^.^ 
To  the  woods  at  night. 

So  after  his  day's  work  was  done 
At  the  close  of  day, 

60 


He  and  the  old,  faithful  hound 
Started  for  their  cherished  prey. 

The  stars  in  heaven  were  twinkling, 

The  old  moon  brightly  shone, 
When  Ephriam  and  his  old  hound  dog 

Started  out  alone; 
But  after  hours  of  tramping 

And  watching  here  and  there, 
Look  as  they  might,  they  could  not  find 

A  possum   anywhere. 
So,  as  tne  hour  was  growing  late, 

And  no  possum  tracks  in  sight, 
They  started  home,  resolved  to  try 

Again  tomorrow  night; 
So  fatigued  and  disappointed  some, 

They  reached  the  cabin  door, 
Witii  mind  made  up,  tomorrow  night 

To  try  their  luck  some  more. 

The  next  night,  fortune  smiled  on  him 

As  you'd  expect  to  see, 
For  Towser  smelled  a  possum 

Up  an  old  gum  tree. 
Joy  knew  no  bounds;  his  ivories  gleamed, 

And  Towser  loud  did  bay, 
And  Ephriam,  he  gave  thanks  to  Him 

(Without  much  time  to  pray) 
For  the  possum  was  away  inside 

Of  that  old  hollow  gum, 
And  how  to  get  him  out  of  it 

Might  worry  white  folks  some, 
But  not  so  this  old  colored  man; 

He  had  been  there  before, 
He  knew  just  how  to  fix  it 

To  get  that  possum  sure. 

61 


He  cut  a  brush  a  few  feet  long. 

And  deftly  split  the  end, 
And  then  he  pushed  it  in  the  log, 

And  quickly  did  he  send 
It  up  to  meet  the  possum, 

And  did  twist  it  in  his  wool, 
And  when  he  got  a  good  strong  hold, 

He  just  began  to  pull, 
And.  out  came  Mr.  Possum, 

And  quick  as  can  be  said, 
A  fat,  young,  juicy  possum 

At  Ephriam's  feet  lay  dead. 
That  he  was  a  happy  colored  man 

You  can  have  no  fear, 
And  the  story  of  his  going  home 

Need  not  be  related  here. 

The  possum  he  was  drawn  and  hung 

Up  by  the  legs  so  fine, 
"Until  the  next  night,  when  Eph 

Could  have  the  time, 
Which,  by  the  way,  was  Hallowe'en, 

And  this  would  come  just  right 
To  help  old  Eph  enjoy  himself 

On  this  peculiar  feelin'  night. 
He  didn't  want  no  company  much, 

Just  thought  that  he  alone 
Could  eat  all  that  possum  meat 

Off  of  every  single  bone. 
And  then  he  thought  of  Towser; 

He  would  sure  play  fair; 
The  bones,  and  what  he'd  chance  to  leave 

Would  be  old  Towser's  share. 

All  day  he  whistled  and  he  sang 
And  seemed  in  spirits  light, 

62 


For  well  he  pictured  in  his  mind 

The  feast  in  store  for  night. 
So  early  in  the  evening, 

The  fire  was  in  tne  grate, 
And  the  possum  was  a-baking 

Before  'twas  very  late. 
The  sweet  taters  and  the  other  things 

That  in  his  mind  had  run, 
Were  timed  so  to  be  ready 

'Bout  the  time  the  possum's  done. 

At  last,  'twas  all  in  readiness 

And  put  upon  the  table, 
And  Eph  sat  down  to  enjoy  it 

As  much  as  he  was  able. 
For  he  was  somewhat  tired, 

And  sorry,  a  little  bit  at  least 
That  he  had  asked  nobody 

To  help  enjoy  his  feast. 
So  he  would  ask  his  Master 

To  forgive  his  selfish  sin, 
For  neglecting  as  he  had  done 

To  invite  a  neighbor  In. 
Besides,  the  dear  Lord  Knew  full  well 

The  possum  was  quite  small, 
And  he  alone   (with  Towser's  help), 

Would  surely  need  it  all. 

He  placed  his  elbow  on  the  board, 

And  then  he  rests  his  chin 
Upon  one  hand,  with  the  other  one 

He  shades  his  eyes, 
And  then  he  just  began 

To  say  his  grace,  which  was 
A  bit  longer  than  he  knew. 

He  closed  his  eyes  quite  reverently 

63 


And  forgot  that  he  was  through, 

And  as  he  ended  up  with 
"I  pray  Thee,  Lord,  to  keep — to  keep, 

He  in  that  restful  attitude 
Just  dozed  off  to  sleep. 

As  he  dozed  and  rested  there, 

As  queer  as  it  may  seem, 
His  mind  went  off  to  the  happy  land 

In  a  most  delightful  dream. 
He  saw  old  Peter  at  the  gate, 

As  happy  as  could  be; 
He  saw  old  Liza  and  the  piccanins 

All  singing  there   and  free; 
He  saw  the  happy  angel  band 

Playing  music  sweet; 
He  saw  the  great  white  throne 

And  the  golden  street. 

He  saw  the  great  white  judgment  throne 

And  all  its  beauteous  realm; 
He  saw  the  pearly  ship  of  faith, 

With  the  Master  at  the  helm; 
And  as  he  looked  around  amazed, 

He  saw  a  great  arm-chair, 
And  o'er  one  post  hung  a  starry  crown, 

And  his  own  name  written  there; 
And  joy!   Oh  joy!  To  his  surprise, 

Right  in  this  vision  fair 
Were  possums,  possums,  great  and  small 

Possums  everywhere. 

Yes,  there  were  possums  great  and  small, 

And  some  were  gray  and  old; 
Some  were  sleek  and  rounded  out 

Much  as  their  hides  would  hold; 

64 


But  all  seemed  happy  and  content, 

And  seemed  to  have  no  fear — 
Just  walked  around  and  winked  at  him 

Whenever  he  came  near. 
They  seemed  to  be  as  mucti  at  home 

As  any  angel  there, 
And  one  old  rascal  just  got  up 

And  sat  down  in  his  chair. 

Now,  while  Ephriam  slept  and  dreamed, 

As  here  in  just  set  out, 
There  was  something  human  and  quite  real 

A-happening  thereabout. 
For  darkies,  just  like  white  folks, 

Get  mighty  curious,  too, 
On  Hallowe'en,  and  snoop  around 

To  see  what  they  can  do, 
To  play  a  joke,  or  cut  a  prank 

Or  steal   (in  fun),  or  raise  the  deuce 
Or  carry  off,  or  cnange  around 

Anything  that  they  find  loose. 

Two  young  "coons"  out  nosin'  around 

On  this  particular  night, 
To  see  what  they  could  find  or  do, 

Were  attracted  by  Eph's  light, 
So  just  sneaked  up  and  looked  around. 

They  almost  died  at  the  surprise 
As  they  beheld  the  tempting  sight 

That  therein  met  their  eyes. 
For  right  before  them  was  possum, 

Just  sufferin'  for  the  eatin/ 
And  Eph  sat  there,  as  big  as  life, 

Apparently  a-sleepin.' 

They  made  a  little  tiny  noise, 
65 


Just  to  test  his  hearer, 
And  when  he  didn't  move  nor  stir, 

They  came  a  little  nearer. 
They  raised  the  latch,  and  swung  the  door 

Until  it  opened  wide, 
And  then  they  bold  and  bolder  grew, 

And  ventured  on  inside. 
And  still  old  Ephriam  slumbered  on, 

And  smiled,  as  in  his  dreaming 
He  saw  the  New  Jerusalem, 

With  its  many  possums  teeming. 

Still  nearer  came  the  colored  pair, 

Who  now  began  to  feel 
It  would  be  no  sin  at  all 

To  that  possum  supper  steal. 
So  they  gathered  up  the  possum 

And  all  the  trimmings,  too, 
And  retired  to  the  outside, 

As  most  any  one  would  do. 

And  there  they  tore  that  possum 

^Complete  from   limb   to  limb, 

So,  about  as  quick,  as  I  teil  you, 

There  was  nothin'  leit  of  him. 

Still,  old  Ephriam  did  not  wake, 
But  his  feast  was  gone  for  good, 
And  the  feasters  thought  to  play  more  joke 

And  fool  Ephriam  if  they  could. 
So  they  slipped  the  platter   with  the  bones, 

Right  back  into  its  place, 
And  with  some  grease  and  gravy 

They  thought  to  smear  Eph's  face. 
So  gently  did  they  work  around 

His  chin,  his  cheeks,  his  lips; 

66 


They  smeared  his  shirt-front  and  his  hands, 
And  then  his  finger-tips. 

Now  the  rogues  were  satisfied 

Their  joke  was  played  quite  through, 
So  they  put  on  the  final  touch, 

And  quietly  withdrew. 
And  Ephriam  woke,  and  his  surprise 

Gould  not  well  be  told, 
For  he  could  not  believe  his  sight 

For  what  he  did  behold. 
He  rubbed  his  eyes  and  stirred  again, 

And  'lowed  he  never  owns 
How  that  possum  ran  away 

And  left  that  pile  of  bones. 

The  evidence  was  everywhere, 

His  hands,  his  lips,  his  face; 
Circumstantial  evidence  was  sure 

All  around  the  place. 
Yet  he  somenow,  could  not  understand, 

And  his  mind  was  not  quite  clear. 
He  could  not  believe  his  eyes  or  mouth; 

Yet  everything  was  there. 
The  situation  would  not  clear; 

In  fact,  it  just  plum  beat  him. 
At  last,  he  gave  it  up,  and  said, 

"I  surely  must  have  eat  him." 

So  he  amibled  up  and  cleared  the  place, 

Amid  evil  thoughts  and  grievin's, 
And  picked  what  little  meat  there  was, 

And  gave  old  Tows  the  leavin's. 
At  last,  he  thought  somehow, 

Which  kind  o*  soothed  his  cares, 
Mayhap  he  had  entertained  the  angels 

There  somehow  unawares. 
And  it  is  a  legend  to  this  day 

In  that  country  there 
How  Eph  Snow  had  entertained 

The  angels  unaware. 

67 


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